Last week, our ward volunteered to help us clean out our new apartment. We finished the painting. We mopped the floors. We swept the carpets. We even stacked some old-school crates and made the coolest bookshelves I’ve ever seen.
And so, armed with naught but our brains, our braun, and a toolbox, we embarked on a new adventure. One man. One woman. Two doors. One couch.
The problem came when we realized that the couch was too big to fit down the stairs to our back door. But we persevered – mainly because it was way too big to fit through the front door. And with some pushing, angling, and general persuasion, we got the couch as far as the doorway.
And then the real challenge came. The couch, we discovered, is 35 inches wide. The door is 32. Not to be deterred, we took the feet off the couch. Then we took the door off the hinges. About 30 minutes later, the couch was in!
…to the kitchen. The next hour was spent removing the living room door, trying new and unusual sofa angles, and generally slamming our hips and shoulders against the thing in a vain effort to become a battering ram. The paint was damaged. The ceiling has remnants of sofa still stuck to it. The couch will never be the same again. And it will certainly never leave that living room again without the aid of a chainsaw. But we feel vindicated, and we know that we are ultimately much stronger and smarter than that couch.
I won’t try to spell any of the war-cries we flung at that couch (especially since many didn’t include any known consonants), but let’s just say that we are victorious – and proud. ♦